An Overdue Visit
by FinnFiona
Summary: The night following James’ birth finds Harry battling mixed emotions in a familiar place. Thankfully, he has a friend to help him through it. A Ron and Harry friendship story—no slash.


"They're asleep

**Author's Note: I owe an enormous debt of gratitude, once again, to Steph (MBP) for her help with this story. Many, many thanks! To everyone else: thanks for taking the time to read this little story, I do hope you enjoy it. And please, don't forget to leave a review!**

"They're asleep?" Ron whispered over Hermione's slumbering curls.

"They're asleep," Harry sighed as he sunk down into the seat next to his best friend. Pushing his hands over his eyes and into his perpetually messy hair, he leaned back to rest his head against the wall. "_They're_ asleep?" he asked in return, not bothering to look around at the surprisingly silent waiting area of the St. Mungo's maternity ward. Of course, it _was_ three o'clock in the morning.

"They are," Ron confirmed, looking around at his family, all of whom were sleeping peacefully, if somewhat uncomfortably.

"I don't think I can," Harry muttered, almost to himself, "sleep, I mean."

Ron surveyed his friend somewhat incredulously—Harry looked exhausted. Ron acknowledged, however, that it might take a little time for the adrenaline of your first child being born to wear off completely.

"What are _you_ doing up?" Harry asked with a side-long glance.

Ron shrugged. He wasn't sure, exactly, but he'd had this nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach all day. At first he'd thought it was just a normal anxiousness—his baby sister was in labor, after all. But that was over now; the baby was perfectly healthy and everyone was ecstatic—tired, but ecstatic.

"Couldn't sleep either, I guess," Ron eventually said with a lopsided grin.

Harry shook his head slowly after a moment, a distant look in his eyes. "I can't believe I have a _son_…"

"When did we get so old, eh?" Ron tried to joke, but the nagging feeling was getting worse. The shadow of a smile he got in response did nothing to help matters.

"I think I'll go for a walk," Harry said abruptly, pushing his hands into his thighs as he stood.

Ron was swept with a sudden sense of dejà vu, as though he could, at this very moment, be sitting not in a hospital chair but an old wooden four-poster... He could've hit himself as he realized that he'd been seeing the signs all day long without recognizing them—it was supposed to be a happy day, after all. And it was, really it was. But when Ron thought back, there had been a few moments there when Harry got that—that _look—_that pensive, troubled look that was so uniquely Harry. Ron would never be able to explain it. Hermione probably could, but it didn't matter—as long as he saw it.

"Yea, alright," Ron answered, but Harry was already starting to walk away. "But… where are you going to go?" he called, in as loud an undertone as he dared. "I don't know if you've noticed, mate, but it's a bit late."

Now it was Harry's turn to shrug. Ron didn't think it was a good idea for Harry to go off alone if he was in one of those moods, but something gave him pause as he made to follow. Gently shifting Hermione into her own chair, he quickly made his way to the lifts.

Ron wasn't sure what unbidden intuition was invading his mind, but he knew where Harry was going—even if Harry himself didn't realize it quite yet.

Ron made his way, shivering, through the maze of headstones. He recognized the names on quite a few, but he hadn't yet found the ones he was looking for. Having only the vague recollection of Hermione's story to go on, Ron had rather expected Harry to beat him here. But the graveyard was empty—save for the oppressive silence that seemed to coat every surface.

Finally, Ron came upon his objective. _James and Lily Potter_… he read. Still, there was no sign of Harry. Ron had been so certain that his friend would come here, but now a tendril of doubt was snaking its way around that persistent worry—feeding on it like Devil's Snare.

Ron stood awkwardly for a few moments, shuffling his feet in the frosty earth. But the names were staring up at him, almost expectantly. "Erm… hello," he finally forced out. "I'm—I'm Ron, Ron Weasley. You knew my parents—well, I suppose you might've even seen me as a baby before you—" Ron stopped himself, horrified, though he wasn't even sure why he should think it would matter. "Well, yes, erm… I'm just waiting on your son—he'll be here shortly, I expect… At least, I think so…"

Looking around, though, Ron saw that he was still very much alone. Crouching down on the pretense of warming his legs, Ron felt compelled to keep talking. "He's my best mate—Harry. Has been practically since the first train ride to Hogwarts…" Ron smiled, remembering. "It was always the two of us—and Hermione as well, of course. She's my wife, Hermione. But I suppose you've already met her…" Ron trailed off, a shadow passing across his face.

"The truth is, you really ought to have met me then too—when you met her, I mean… I wish—I wish I could say I've always been there for your son, but, well… I always tried to before, but I couldn't—I couldn't—" he sighed, collecting his thoughts—and his breathing. "I know it was that bloody locket, but still, I—I really should have been there… for him. I'm—I'm sorry," he said haltingly, suddenly not feeling worthy of facing the cold stone.

Ron had more or less come to terms with that time of his life, however ashamed a part of him would always be. But in this moment, he suddenly felt that there were a couple of people that he hadn't made it up to yet. "I'm keeping an eye out for him now, though, I promise you that—so—so you don't have to worry about him, okay?" Ron continued, looking back at the headstone. His eyes scanned the rest of it quickly. "Blimey…" he breathed, "you were so young…" Ron couldn't imagine it—they were younger than he was now, realized—only a year older than Fred had been when he—but no, Ron stopped himself there. This was turning out to be a hard enough day as it was.

"He's… he's alright, Harry," Ron went on, for some reason desperate to offer reassurance. "Really, you'd be proud of him. Today was just hard though, I think… He and Ginny—that's my sister, Ginny, you'd like her, I think, but maybe I'm biased—anyhow, their first child was born today… So you're grandparents! Hey!" he said, with a half-smile, if only for himself. "Well, the thing is, I think Harry really wished you were there… especially when they brought him out—the baby—and introduced him to his aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents—that is, _my_ mum and dad and brothers and everyone… Well, see, they named the baby James—James Sirius Potter—but I expect Harry'd want to tell you that…"

"That's okay, you can tell them."

Ron just about jumped out of his skin as he whirled around into a standing position. "Harry!" he exclaimed, ears turning red as he caught sight of his friend. "I was just—erm…"

"It's really okay, Ron," Harry said with the ghost of a smile as he came to stand next to his best friend. "But how did you—how did you know I'd come here? I haven't come here in… in years."

Ron considered this for a moment—he had thought he didn't know the answer, but then, "I know you," he said simply.

Harry nodded, seeming to accept this, and knelt down on the grave. "So I see you've met Ron," he said with a small chuckle, but then his face grew serious. "He knows me pretty well, as you can see. He's been around for a lot… I've—I've put him through a lot…"

Ron wanted to say something, but his voice caught in his throat—maybe because he knew Harry wouldn't want him to. Instead, he found himself kneeling down on the cold ground.

"So I think today," Harry went on, determinedly looking straight ahead, "I think he saw what I didn't want to admit to myself—that I—that I really needed you there," he said with a quavering voice, biting his lip to keep it from trembling. "Because I—I have a son—and you aren't here to meet him and I don't know—I don't know—" and Harry couldn't go on any further. Covering his eyes, he fell back onto his heels as that first shudder ran across his back.

Ron sat motionless for a moment, unsure of what to do. He knew he had to do something, but he also knew he couldn't make this better. He couldn't bring James and Lily back now any more than he could have all of the many times Harry had needed them before. But he'd made them a promise—a promise he'd made himself a long time ago. So he reached out and gave Harry's shoulder a squeeze.

Ron was taken off-guard as this small gesture caused Harry to fall into him, sobbing uncontrollably. He instinctively held on tightly as his friend struggled to regain control. It seemed that that was always his instinct—whether he was sitting amongst red velvet hangings, or lurid orange posters or drab and dusty wall hangings. Even if he didn't always feel particularly comfortable—or, more likely, he didn't feel especially adept in this role—he did it anyway. Not because he had to—because he didn't, really. It was because he wanted to help—just like he did now, if he could only reason out a way to do it… Besides, Ron was painfully aware that this wasn't the first time they'd found themselves in a desolate graveyard. Only on that occasion, their positions had been reversed.

So as Harry's cries quieted, Ron turned his attention back to the headstone. "See," Ron said quietly, "Harry forgets sometimes that he isn't on his own. You _should_ be here, it's true, but—but I think… I think there's still a part of you that lives in Harry. And now that little piece—it lives in a new James Potter, too. Just like there's a little bit of… of my brother in me, and in George—and—and everyone…" Now Ron faced Harry, who had pulled away and was wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "And the rest of us are here to fill in the gaps."

"When did you get so smart?" Harry sniffed, with a monumental effort at a smirk.

"What can I say? With age comes wisdom," he said with a smile as he pulled Harry to his feet.

"You're not _that_ old," Harry joked, his still feeble grin growing wider.

"Older than you anyway," Ron said dismissively.

"Oh, right—by what? A couple of months?"

They were both smiling now, but Harry's faltered as he looked back at the marble below him. "I really do wish they could meet him…" he whispered.

"Me too," Ron replied, tears springing to his own eyes which he fought to keep at bay. "There are a lot of people he should meet…"

The two friends stood for a few moments longer in a comfortable silence, staring at the grave but not really seeing it. "Are you ready to go back?" Ron asked quietly, as he struggled to extract himself from his thoughts. "If anyone wakes up they're going to wonder where we are."

Harry nodded, adding with a small smile, "I certainly wouldn't want to set your mum to worrying any more than she already does."

"Not much chance of that, anyhow," Ron agreed with a laugh.

Reaching the end of the row, Harry caught Ron's arm before he turned to Disapparate. "Thanks," he said in a small voice, "thanks for knowing to come here."

Ron nodded, his own throat dry. He was glad he had finally made it here, himself. Maybe he was seven years later than he should have been. But then again, maybe he was right on time.


End file.
